Up for Ransom
by Catiekay
Summary: After losing his childhood friend Alfred to a devastating house fire, Arthur Kirkland learns to live a rather dull life in the West. He longs for more than herding cattle and reaping fields, and his prayers are answered in a most unexpected way. When a dangerous outlaw, wanted for months, manages to take him hostage, his true identity was what Arthur least expected. (USUK)
1. Prologue

**Author Notes**

Hey, everyone! Here is the beginning of one of the fanfictions I've been meaning to work on and I hope you'll like it enough to go on to the next chapter! It's starts off kind of sad, but I promise it gets better a little bit later! This is just the prologue after all.

This fic was originally intended to be a one-shot, but because I love USUK and Westerns so much, in turned into a multi-chapter fanfiction...but I hope you guys will like it anyways!

Please feel free to comment, critique, and/or provide feedback because it is all welcome! uvu Updates may be slow at first, but school is almost out, so I'll have some more time to write then. For now, enjoy this product of avoiding and procastinating on finals!

**Bozeman, Montana: 1867 **

_"__Arthur!" a desperate voice called to him. Hands grabbed his arms and gently shook him. "Arthur, dear, please wake up!" It sounded far away, like he was listening through a wall. Forcing his heavy eyelids open, Arthur rolled onto his back to find his mother standing over him. _

_Right away, Arthur could tell something was wrong. His bedroom was unusually dark and a foul aroma permeated his room. A thin layer of what seemed like dust covered everything. But his jumbled, drowsy mind stopped him from piecing anything together. Blinking did nothing to clear his thoughts. _

_"__Come now, love, this is urgent! We haven't much time," his mother pleaded. Arthur frowned at his mother, trying to make sense of her words through his sleepy haze. What could possibly be so important at this hour? _

_Now losing patience, Arthur's mother threw the blankets off the ten-year-old boy and swiftly lifted him from his bed, eliciting a yelp from the child. She darted out of the room and into the hallway. "Mum?" Arthur asked in surprise, his sleepiness wearing away. He looked back into his room and finally realized why it was so dark: the moonlight was not shining through his window._

_The stairwell and hallway were filled with smoke (not dust, he noticed), causing him to cough. Gazing over his mum's shoulder, he saw something terribly unexpected. Flames darted out of the door leading to their kitchen as Arthur's mother ran past. It was ablaze. Servants and neighbors ran frantically to and fro with buckets containing water, throwing it onto the flames. The howling and crying he heard within were almost louder than the crackling of the fire. He hardly had time gasp before his mother had dashed through the front door and set him down outside, where it seemed the whole town was gathered. _

_"__Honey, I need you to wait here 'til Papa comes, alright?" Arthur's mother said breathlessly, kissing his forehead. Arthur was wide awake now, flustered, stunned, and confused. _

_"__But Mum—!" He grappled for the hem of her nightgown as she rushed towards the house once more. "No, come back!" he cried. He watched helplessly as his mother disappeared through their wooden doors into their wooden house, towards the smoke pouring out the side windows. _

_What if Mum never comes out again, he thought in despair? What if she gets hurt? Where are Papa and Peter? Is their house going to burn down? Arthur sat back and began to cry as people carrying water buckets ran past him. _

_However, only a few of them went into his family's house. The rest went next door to his dear friend Alfred's house. Why were they going there? He could not see anything through the crowd of tall adults except for a red glow filling the sky. Everyone was screaming and yelling and some were crying. People constantly ran into him as they raced by, throwing him around on the dirt road. It all frightened Arthur, who was alone in the street. There was no end to the confusion around him._

_Just then, his mother burst through the front doors of their home carrying small, vulnerable Peter, closely followed by his father. Never had Arthur experienced such relief, and he ran to them the moment they were off the porch._

_Arthur's father knelt down and scooped him into a tight hug. Within his arms, Arthur felt safe, almost as if the commotion around him had disappeared. _

_"__Wipe away those tears, young man," he soothed, running his callused fingers through his son's hair, paying no heed to the tears seeping into his shirt. "We are going to be just fine." Sobbing into his shoulder, Arthur gripped the fabric of his father's nightshirt._

_After giving Arthur a quick peck on the cheek and setting him down, his father yelled to his family, "Wait here!" He raced towards the men who were carrying water buckets and grabbed one of his own. The throng of people soon swallowed him up, leaving Arthur, his baby brother Peter, and his mother to fend for themselves. All of the security he felt moments ago completely vanished and reality came crashing down twice as hard. _

_Arthur tried to run after him, only to be cut short by his mother. "Come now, darling," she pleaded, "We have to be as far away as possible!" Holding him by the wrist, she tugged Arthur away from the red glow that was growing larger by the second. _

_"__But Papa's all alone! We need to help him!" With that, Arthur ripped his hand from his mum's grasp and fled towards the confused horde and ominous glow in the sky. He paid no mind to his mother's shouting behind him. _

_Pushing through the warm bodies was harder than Arthur thought. Tripping and sliding along the sandy road, he smashed into several hips and elbows. He never seemed to get any closer to the red glow, but the air grew hotter and smokier with every step, making his eyes water. _

_Out of nowhere, Arthur's bare foot caught on someone's shoe, sending him tumbling to the ground. The impact knocked the breath out of his lungs as he crashed landed. After skidding several feet on his face and hands, he came to halt. For a moment, he struggled to move, for the pain was almost unbearable to his young body. Thankfully, several adults came to his aid, both dusting him off and scolding him for coming so close to the fire. _

Fire, _Arthur thought?_ But we're not by my house.

_What Arthur saw next was something he had never expected to see. Eyes widening and jaw dropping, he looked up at his friend Alfred's house… which was engulfed in a roaring inferno. The flames seemed to touch the sky they were so tall. Fire seeped out all the broken windows and up the walls, showering sparks over everything near it. The whole building was blackened with soot and smoke. _

_He stumbled backwards several steps from both the shock of seeing such a sight and the intense heat, covering his face with his arm. Arthur frantically looked around for Alfred and his family. Were they safe, or were they still inside?_

_"__Hey kid, move it!" someone shouted, pushing Arthur aside with his water-filled bucket as he ran by. _

_"__Wait!" Arthur cried to the man, grabbing his sleeve. "Where's Alfred? Where is his family?" Fresh tears pricked the backs of his eyes. _

_"__They're trapped inside and we're tryin' to get 'em out!" the man yelled in reply, yanking his arm out of the boy's grip and running towards the fire. Arthur suddenly felt sick. There was no way they could escape if the fire had already consumed that much of the house. _This must be a dream_, he told himself desperately_. A terrible, terrible dream.

_All of the men were trying to extinguish the fire, but to no avail. Mere buckets were not going to do anything. Several men came staggering out of the house, hacking smoke out of their lungs, but none of them was a member of the Jones family. No one dared going into the house now, even though Alfred and his mum and papa were still shut in. Arthur watched in despair as each man, one by one, gave up the rescue mission. They all stood dejectedly watching the house burn. _

_Without thinking, Arthur ran towards the blazing structure. There was no way he would leave his best friend to die. _

_"__Alfred!" he screamed, "Alfred, can you hear me?" Jumping over flaming shards of wood, he leapt onto the porch. The wood scalded his feet as he pounded on the front door, causing sparks to fly. "Please come out!" he begged. _

_Before he could reach for the door knob, however, a pair of strong arms seized his waist and dragged him away from the flaming house. Arthur coughed violently and his eyes watered profusely. _

_"__What the hell were you doing?" his father yelled at him once they were at a safe distance. "Do you want to be killed?"_

_"__Let me go!" Arthur shrieked, kicking and thrashing. Tears streamed down his bleeding cheeks as he clawed at his father's arms. "Let me go!" Why was no one trying to save them anymore? Why was everyone leaving them to die? _

_"__There's nothing we can do! The fire is too great," Arthur's father shouted over the roaring of the flames and the mass of people, his voice breaking. He struggled to keep Arthur from escaping his hold. "If we sent anyone else in to retrieve them, they'd die within minutes!"_

_Arthur only writhed and lashed out stronger. "Please!" he sobbed. "We can't leave them inside!" _

_A loud _crack!_ sounded from the house suddenly, causing the whole town to come to a stop. Every head turned to look at the building and a deafening silence settled over the crowds._

_One by one, vast panels of wood began to fall off, shattering on the ground. The wood splintered noisily, people flinching with each sound. Arthur did not understand why everyone looked so panicked all of a sudden. How could things possibly be worse? It was just a few wooden boards. _

_Then everyone started to run. "Look out!" someone bellowed. Before he knew what was happening, his father threw himself over Arthur. _

_An earsplitting crash filled the air, closely followed by flaming debris flying overhead. The ground shuddered and shook. Looking beneath his papa's arm, Arthur watched in horror as Alfred's house caved in on itself, the roof breaking apart and taking everything below with it. He shut his eyes tight as everything came crashing down with a thunderous, flaming explosion. _

_After a few moments, everything was horribly silent. Arthur's heart was in his throat as his father slowly sat up. Several wooden shards fell from his hair as he moved. Shaking from adrenaline, Arthur stood, gaping at what was left of the house. He took one step towards the smoking rubble, hardly believing what he saw. _

_Arthur found himself staggering towards the smoldering wreckage, blinded by his tears. _No, no, no_, he repeated to himself._ _He fell to his knees at the edge of the remains, and began frantically digging through the broken wood, ignoring the splinters and the searing temperature of the shards. Alfred was still there, he was sure of it. He just needed to look, is all. They would come popping out of the wood at any moment and everything would be fine. It had to be. _

_Another loud crash came from the former house as the remaining framework broke apart, throwing Arthur onto his back. He felt the hair on his arms singing from the heat, but that did not deter him. He needed to help his best friend; otherwise he'd be trapped forever._

_Before he could sit up properly, Arthur felt someone take his arms and haul him away once more. He struggled against his captor, but with much less vigor. Exhaustion finally took its toll on the child. Quickly losing energy, Arthur gave up and let his father lift his limp body into his arms to bring him back to the weeping crowd. He could not bring himself to look at the rubble he left behind, abandoning his one friend for good. Instead, he burrowed his face into his father's shirt, his small shoulders shaking with sobs. _

_Flakes of ashes floated downwards, settling on every open surface. His eyelids heavy, Arthur watched several small flecks land on the back of his hand. Before long, he could no longer keep his eyes open, and the boy succumbed to restless, weary sleep. _

_One by one, the townspeople stood and walked dejectedly towards their homes, Arthur's family included. And while everyone's back was turned, the smoke cleared just enough to let the moonlight shine through once more. _


	2. Chapter 1

**Author's Notes**

Here's chapter one! This one was written not long after the prologue and had a bunch of edits/revisions, so hopefully it reads smoother than what I originally intended. Anyways, if you've made it here, then I really hope you like what you see so far and I'll have Chapter Two in asap. Happy reading! c:

**Deer Lodge, Montana: 1876**

Arthur coughed as he downed another shot of whiskey, wiping his mouth. Feeling it burn all the way down his throat, he leaned forward, putting his head on his forearms. He groaned when someone slapped his back.

"Arthur, _cher_," his cousin Francis called merrily, "that's only your third shot!"

With a nasty scowl, he whipped his head around to stare at Francis, sitting next to him, right in eye.

"You're one to talk." He sat up from the bar, trying his best to sit upright on the bar stool. Everything was beginning to look fuzzy and the floorboards seemed to be wobbling beneath his dangling feet. His witty comeback disappeared into the depths of his jumbled thoughts.

With a smile, Francis gestured to the people inside the saloon. "Oh, I was only teasing. Besides, today is a day of celebration and you should be happy."

All around them, people were chatting and drinking enthusiastically. The wooden flooring creaked beneath people's feet as they danced in time with the pianist playing in the far corner. Tankards and mugs clanked together loudly following brazen proclamations of _Cheers!_ and bartenders hurriedly filled glasses from demanding drinkers. Laughter filled the air, and Arthur sat back to observe the general cheerfulness taking place.

He shielded his eyes from the morning sun shining through the windows, leaning against the bar's counter. People from all over the state had come to Deer Lodge with their cattle, hoping to set them onto the railroads and get paid. With their newly earned money, the ranchers and cattle drivers celebrated their victorious journeys through alcohol, dancing, singing, and some other rather questionable activities. The weeks following the cattle drives were always crazy, but Arthur and his family had learned to cope, and even enjoy them. Eventually, everyone would head towards their hometowns and Deer Lodge would settle back down into normal routines.

Arthur frowned, taking a hold of the counter when he felt himself swaying off his stool. He sighed when he watched some of his whiskey spill onto the floor. "I suppose you're right. Maybe I'll even go dance with someone if I can stay on two legs for more than a few seconds."

"Like Amelia?" Francis hinted, cocking an eyebrow.

Groaning inwardly, Arthur rubbed his temple with his free hand. "Like anyone who isn't Amelia."

Across the room, a lady with curly, light brown hair and sparkling blue eyes spoke excitedly with her friends, occasionally sneaking a few glances at Arthur. She spun around so that her new dress would flutter outwards. Anyone could see how lively and bright she was, and more than a few men had already proposed to her, despite her young age. However, for reasons unknown to Arthur, she had turned them down in hopes that he would ask her.

"You know, everyone thinks you two are going to be married. That poor girl, she is madly in love with a _bougon_."

"Shut up." Arthur waved his hand around his face to disperse the tobacco fumes filling the air. There were numerous people smoking cigars, and he was not in the mood for one himself. When his blurry eyesight focused, he found Amelia looking directly at him, giving him a coy wave. With a forced smile, he returned the wave and swiveled around to face the bar again. He did not want to think about how his father was going to force him to propose to Amelia next week; he did not want to think about the rest of his life being devoted to one woman; he did not want to think about people telling him how much happier he would be with a wife.

Instead, Arthur slid off his bar stool and stumbled towards the doors leading out, holding his head high and trying to avoid eye contact. No one had to know just how few shots could intoxicate him.

As he pushed the swinging doors open, he heard Francis call after him, probably asking where he was going, but Arthur was too drunk to care. He needed some time away from the hectic cattle drivers and infatuated girls. Pulling his jacket closer around his body, his leather boots crunching over the frosted ground, he headed towards home, sweet home.

* * *

Arthur flexed his frigid fingers, hoping to warm them up to a decent temperature. Although the sun was bright and seemingly warm, the air nipped at his nose and ears and the switch grass in the field surrounding him was stiff with ice. With gentle and firm strokes, he brushed the coat of his horse, Miro. However, he decided to hasten his pace since he had started to shiver a few minutes ago. How horses could stand such extreme temperatures, he would never know. Hopefully it would warm up later in the day.

Even from a mile away, standing on top of a small hill, Arthur could hear the festivities still. He could barely make out the townsfolk's figures in the distance, and they seemed like wandering ants from the field by his home. He scowled, securing the bridle around Miro's head. Not even on his own property could he have peace and quiet to sooth his headache. Maybe next time he would settle for a less intoxicating beverage.

He felt something warm brush his shoulder, and turned to find Miro nuzzling him. Smiling, Arthur returned the affection and patted her long nose. Miro was a sturdy horse, quite fit in her old age. Like most mustangs, she had a gleaming russet coat, a black mane and tail, and a rather prominent independent streak. Now, she was calmer and much gentler. Arthur was fond of her because she had once belonged to Alfred many years ago as a foal. She had been the only living thing to survive that dreaded fire and taking ownership of her had proved quite a fight; a young horse was invaluable in these parts.

_Alfred would have turned seventeen this year_, Arthur thought, taking a brush and combing out the knots in Miro's mane. _Funny how fast time can pass. _For several years after the fire, Bozeman would still celebrate Alfred's birthday alongside Independence Day as if he was still alive, including everything a child like him would have loved. It was painful at first, but over time, Arthur came to love the parties, as well. Even after they moved to Deer Lodge from Bozeman, Arthur's parents would make a tribute to Alfred and his family with a nice dinner and wine selection (and today happened to be one of those days).

The funeral, nine years ago that day, was the largest event the town had seen since the Trail opened up, with everyone within twenty miles coming. The Jones' were well known for their hospitality and great food, and they had numerous close friends, including Arthur's family. So it was no surprise that the mayor from as far away as Helena had attended.

One of the saddest parts of the funeral was there had been three coffins at the ceremony, but only two of them contained bodies. Poor Mr. and Mrs. Jones had been found together in a terrible state, but Alfred had never been recovered from the rubble, no matter how thoroughly people searched. After two days, everyone gave up looking and left the Kirkland family to arrange the service.

Alfred and Arthur had been great friends. When Arthur's family moved to the West from England when he was eight years old, Alfred had been one of the only children around his age in the town. When the daily chores were done, they would get together and play with dominoes, draughts, or anything else that could hold their interest for a few hours, and the two quickly became friends. However, Arthur never told anyone that after a about a year, he realized his feelings were more than friendship. Not even Francis knew, and to this day, he kept it to himself. He's seen a few men and women since who have caught his interest, but not the way Alfred had.

Arthur shook his head, trying to scatter the sad memories. He grabbed his slouch hat sitting on the barbed wire fence surround his property, put it on, and pulled his leather jacket closer around himself.

Taking the reins, Arthur led Miro out from the shade of the frost-covered pine trees over to wear he had set out the rest of his riding gear. Although it was long past sunrise, the sky was still tinted yellow around the eastern horizon and the air felt thin and fresh. The rays of sunshine provided little reprieve for his frozen cheeks, but Miro seemed to be relieved. Once the saddle blanket was set in place and the saddle itself was fastened, Arthur pulled himself on top of the horse. A leisurely ride would surely clear his head, and upon coming home, he would have a lovely supper to look forward to.

* * *

Miro's hooves thumped softly against the dusty horse trail with each step she took, creating a rhythm that was causing Arthur to feel drowsy. He patted his cheeks and furiously blinked his eyes to keep himself awake. Who knows where a horse could end up with a sleeping rider?

Daylight seeped between the lodgepole pines around the path and made spotted patterns across the ground. The patches where the sun had not touched were covered in ice, and Arthur cautiously guided Miro around them. Although they had ridden these trails hundreds of times, winter's cold weather had made them tricky to traverse, and Miro's old age did not help. The steep climb usually was no problem for her, but with frozen spots dotting the earth, Arthur decided that he would take easier trails until spring truly arrived.

The two had been riding for a little more than an hour, and Arthur was aiming for a beautiful view point over the valley in which Deer Lodge was set. There, he could relax for a few minutes before having to return to his daily life.

_My life is so boring_, Arthur thought, rubbing Miro's neck, _All I ever do is collect eggs in the morning and then listen to Francis complain for the rest of the day_. He rubbed a hand through his hair with a grimace. Along with that, he was soon going to marry an overbearing and fussy girl, which meant he would have to choose somewhere to live and stay there. He could not handle that; he needed freedom.

Pulling back on the reins, Arthur brought Miro to a halt and slid off the saddle to stretch his legs and back. There was still a ways to go before they reached their destination, but Miro was breathing hard and his stomach was grumbling. All he could hear was the wind in the trees, and a few birds chirping in the distance; he hadn't experienced peace like this in weeks. Maybe a quiet lunch and a short nap in the grass would do his mind some justice.

However, that silence was short-lived.

Arthur jumped out of his skin when a gunshot rang out. The dirt about ten feet away from him exploded. Miro reared back and stumbled backwards. He instinctively grabbed for the revolver in his gun belt and outstretched his arms, aiming at nothing. Hardly anyone ever rode these paths this time of year; he was supposed to be alone. Whirling around, he tried to pinpoint the source of the shot, but the wind had blown the echoes away.

His heart rate accelerated so quickly he thought his ribcage would break. He only had three rounds of bullets with him and he was miles away from town. There was no way he was going to take out someone he could not see. Staggering towards a frightened Miro, Arthur reached for the horn of the saddle to get on and ride away as fast as possible.

Another shot sounded and searing pain tore through his right shoulder. Arthur screamed, and the sheer force of the bullet sent him flying. He hit the ground hard and tumbled several feet down the steep, rocky trail, but he felt nothing. The sting in his shoulder was blinding him to anything else. The revolver flew out of his hand and toppled off a cliff beside the trail; there was no way to retrieve it. Skidding to a halt, covered in ice and dirt, Arthur writhed in agony, clenching his shoulder.

Attempting to regulate his breathing, Arthur struggled to push himself off the ground and stand up, but collapsed. His arm slowly became numb and he could not see through the blazing pain. He could feel the bullet lodged in his shoulder, and warm blood trickled between his straining fingers.

Before he could make any more progress in standing, footsteps pounded towards him and a huge weight crushed him, pinning his legs to the ground. A figure blocked the sun overhead. Someone was sitting on him. Feebly, Arthur fought back against his assailant, whose face was obscured by a bandana. With his good arm, Arthur swung at the stranger and struck his cheek. The person grunted, but countered much stronger. Arthur's head twisted sideways; he felt something in his nose snap.

Then, the attacker brought out his shooter, and all the blood drained from Arthur's face. _This is it_, he thought through the pain. _I am going to die in the middle of nowhere_.

The last thing he saw was the butt of the rifle coming at his head.


End file.
